


Ice Cold

by VoteForNuke



Series: 2020 MGS Summer Games [7]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: F/M, Ice Skating, pre-mg2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:55:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26133037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoteForNuke/pseuds/VoteForNuke
Summary: Gustava skates, Frank tries not to have a crisis.
Relationships: Gray Fox/Gustava Heffner
Series: 2020 MGS Summer Games [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1884223
Kudos: 7





	Ice Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Short and weird, but it's been on my mind.

“I have it, I have it.” Frank assured, drawing his legs together. The blades of his skates scrapped the ice, but brought no stability. He breathed out slowly, a steady barrage of curses rolling through his mind before he told himself he was fine. He was stable, he did it. He had it. Good. Fucking hell. 

Gustava circled him once more. “Are you sure?” She prodded when Frank remained stiff and tense. 

“I’m picking it up.” He lied, eyes fixed on the ice below him. It shouldn’t be this difficult. It was just gliding across the ice. Children could do it! Their peals of laughter and squeals mocked him as they swirled in a sea of brightly colored jackets and earmuffs. It was so easy, so simple. Why was he busting his ass over and over, he’d become weaker than a child! No. Even as a child he was stronger than this. He’d become an invalid. 

“Frank,” Gustava stopped in front of him. Her voice was soft, soft in the way she used when he woke from nightmares, when he shattered a plate in the sink, when he gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. Frank realized his hands were in fists, shoulders drawn high in frustration. What a mess he was. He wondered if reaching for a cigarette would knock him off balance. “Here,” she moved closer, skates sliding to stop in front of his. They were old and battered, but she said they were her favorites. Even when they unraveled and were nothing but scraps of leather and frame, she would keep them. “Take my arm. I’ll lead you.” 

Frank swallowed the taste of shame. Sometimes he wondered if he was one of her battered things. He was better in the trash, but she kept him for...some reason. Love, he liked to think. 

“I’m just going to smoke.” He said, fishing in the pocket of his coat for the crumpled pack. He could feel her frown, but stayed strong. “You skate. Don’t wait for me. Show me how you skate, I love when you skate.” He only looked her in the eye when the cigarette was safely between his lips. 

It was almost like the first time they met. Gustava must have also noticed, and only responded with a smile before gliding away. She was so graceful, so beautiful. He thought she cut through the air like a stealth bomber, and then wondered why he compared everything to instruments of war. She was still beautiful. Blonde hair neatly braided with a blue ribbon strung through it, pulled over one shoulder. The Christmas lights strung overhead danced across her skin caught in her blue eyes. The other people were simply backdrops, extras for her starring role. 

It was like the first time they met. He’d been hugging the barrier, puffing his last smoke and transfixed on her. They kept catching each others’ eyes as she did her routine, until her coach dismissed her and she skated over. He’d been shy, then. Distant despite his interest. He couldn’t bare to think of a world where their conversation about the routine music hadn’t led them to this moment. A world where he let his shyness hold back 

Flicking his cigarette into the filthy snow beside the pond, Frank straightened himself. “Hey,” he called to her. She paused, eyes bright with hope. He offered his arm, and she grinned, skating over to press a kiss to his cheek. 


End file.
